


The Lovely Girl

by boxoftheskyking



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Eyre Fusion, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of dub-con/non-con, Period Piece, Restraints, kind of, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxoftheskyking/pseuds/boxoftheskyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is hired by the wealthy Mr. Hale to take care of his young ward. As he begins to learn about his mysterious employer, he notices something not quite right in the house, and perhaps the presence of something - or someone - hidden.</p><p>Vaguely a Jane Eyre AU, vaguely a Yellow Wallpaper AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lovely Girl

**Author's Note:**

> this is going to be a pain, but it's happening.  
> Things I struggle with: period pieces and mysteries  
> things this fic is: period piece and mystery  
> oh well life is pain.

Her eyes seem to glow red in the dim light of the room. The curtains are always drawn, pinned to the window frame, though it ruins the fine wood. 

They don't really glow, her eyes, but there is an unnatural light behind them as she wakes, suddenly. He drops the mug of water onto the nightstand and stills, waiting for her. She usually doesn't wake up when he comes in with the water. Her lips draw back in a mockery of a smile, two teeth missing now and another cracked. 

"Hello, Ma," he whispers, and her teeth part in a growl. 

And in a moment she has him, broken nails digging into the skin of his arm, foul breath in his face as she howls at him. The walls are scratched around him, and the bedsheets ripped from weeks of her fighting and thrashing. 

He can barely breathe, he can only call out "Ma, Ma, Ma," as if there is some other Mother somewhere to protect him. 

His father is on them in a moment, arms caged tightly around her, his bulk holding her slim frame as she spasms beneath him. She barely eats anymore, so it's no trouble for him.

"Shhh, Claudia. Hush, love, it's nothing. It's only the boy," his father murmurs in her ears. She hears nothing. Her teeth snap at him, and he pulls away, so well practiced.

"Don't touch her, Pa, she isn't human!" the boy cries out.

That's how he knows it's a dream. In the memory he says nothing; he runs out of the house and down to the Lahey's, where Isaac lets him win at cards and the Old Man boxes his ears for sitting too long where he isn't wanted.

In the dream he cries out, he warns his father. "She isn't human!"

And then he wakes.

He has an interview today.

\-----

"And I suppose then you'll want to meet Scott," Miss Delgado says, ushering him out of the kitchens and down a long, narrow hallway. 

"I - I'm sorry, I thought that Mr. Hale would–"

"Oh, Mr. Hale has no time to be talking to every new candidate that answers his newspaper ad. You'll meet him when you start, and so long as Scott likes you you'll be fine."

" _When_ I start?" Stiles gapes. "Sorry, are we at  _when_ , or are we still at  _if_ –"

"And here's the little one." She swings open the door of what is most likely an unused study. A small boy–seven years old, she told him–sits frowning over a piles of small wooden puzzle pieces. He has a small section already assembled, a basic garden scene starting to take shape beneath his hands. He tries a few pieces unsuccessfully and glares down at the pile, crossing his arms and sitting back on his heels.

Stiles looks to Miss Delgado, who nods at him. He approaches Scott and kneels down beside him.

"You've got quite a bit going there."

Scott pouts. "Only a little bit. And nothing else fits."

"Nonsense." Stiles starts to shift through the pile. "They couldn't sell the puzzle if all the pieces didn't fit, now could they?"

"Well I'm just to stupid to figure it out then." The boy says it as though it's a fact, looking down at his knees. Stiles casts his eyes up to Miss Delgado, who has her lips pursed and her hands on her hips.

"Now that's even more nonsense," Stiles says. "I can tell you're a very bright boy. In fact, I was just saying to Miss Delgado, there must be a very bright boy in this house. I get a feeling about things like that, you know. It's because my mother did a favor for a witch when I was very small, so she cast a spell on me in thanks."

Scott's eyes widen. "What was the spell?"

"Well, it means that I can always tell someone's true nature. It doesn't matter if someone tries to lie to me; I can spot it just like that. So I know you're a very intelligent young man, even if you can't see it yourself."

"But it's supposed to be easy!" Scott turns some pieces over listlessly on the ground. "Mr. Harris told me so. He said it was for babies, and I should be able to finish it in no time at all." Scott's lip starts to tremble, and his cheeks flush pink with shame.

Stiles feels a rush of anger, which he channels into a stern expression. "Well, Mr. Harris isn't here now. I myself think this looks like a particularly challenging puzzle, and not for babies at all. In fact, I would love to work on it with you, if you'd allow me."

Scott blinks up at him, narrowing his eyes. "I don't need help, you know."

"Of course not." Stiles stops himself from grinning at the boy's change in attitude. He loves the mutability of children, and their commitment to being as contrary as possible. "But most things are more fun when accomplished with a friend, don't you think? I'm Stiles. If you'll let me, I'll bet we can have an excellent time working on this together."

Scott thinks for a moment, then nods brightly, pushing a handful of puzzle pieces his way. Stiles looks up at Miss Delgado, who is smiling fondly down at them. 

"Dinner is in one hour, gentlemen. Don't be late."

"Thank you, Melissa," Scott sing-songs. "Will Derek be there tonight?"

"No, Scott, I think he'll be in town until late this evening. You two behave now."

"We'll try, Miss Delgado," Stiles winks up at her. He imagines there will be papers to sign later on, and things to move into Mr. Hale's spare room. Her smile and Scott's triumphant crow as he finds a matching piece are all Stiles needs to know the job is his.

\----

For the most part, it's a job like any other. He's certainly glad to be near the city in a warm house. The other families looking for tutors and governesses were much farther out from town in old manors that Stiles imagines must all be haunted. The house itself is not an old building, but it is an imposing one, and has been passed hand to hand for a generation or two. Most of the west wing is rented out or shut up, Mr. Hale having but a small household and little need for opulence. Were Stiles still Scott's age, a friend perhaps, or a brother, he would have them poking their noses in those dusty halls within weeks of his arrival. He always amuses himself with that thought. What trouble he would have gotten the boy into, had he grown up here!

Scott takes to him immediately, and Stiles finds himself instantly charmed. He is a serious child with a startling bright smile and a kind of innate kindness that Stiles is sure can't be taught. Whoever his mother was, she must have had the same sparkling eyes and trilling laugh.

As to who she might have been, Stiles has no clue. He has met the mysterious Mr. Hale only twice, both times only in passing, by the time his first month in the house comes to an end. The boy is not a Hale, at least not by name, but Stiles finds himself searching for similarities between the two of them on the rare occasions they are seen together. He has tried to broach the subject with Miss Delgado–"Melissa, please, Melissa"–but each time he asks she closes up like a clam.

"Doesn't matter he comes from, Mr. Stiles. He's here with us now."

Mr. Hale himself is a puzzle, sweeping in and out again in his long woolen coat. An attractive puzzle, Stiles won't deny it in the quiet confines of his mind. He's come far beyond lying to himself; he left that all behind three towns ago along with his father's gravestone and the belt marks that crisscrossed Isaac's back anytime they were caught together. Lying to himself never saved him.

No, Stiles won't deny the start of a blush when Mr. Hale stopped him in the hallway on their first meeting, back straight and brows furrowed.

"Stiles, is it?" he had inquired in an unexpectedly soft voice.

"Yes sir, Mr. Hale," Stiles had replied. They had stared at one another for perhaps a moment too long before Mr. Hale gave a curt nod and departed.

"A 'welcome' would be nice," Stiles mumbled to himself as the door slammed behind him.

He paces his little room now, thinking of ways to take advantage of his rare afternoon break. Scott is with old Mr. Argent the music instructor, who Stiles knows he despises. The old man isn't cruel, but he is cold and forgetful, often chastising the boy for not memorizing etudes that he had not yet gotten around to teaching.

Stiles has books he could be reading, and a half-written letter to Isaac that he started months ago and hasn't looked at since, but instead he flops back on his narrow bed and listens to the sounds of the house. Melissa is laughing downstairs in the yard as she receives the post. He can hear her through his window. Scott is painstakingly plunking away at the piano, Mr. Argent beating time with his cane against the hearthstones in the parlor. 

Stiles begins to doze. Another burst of laughter from Melissa in the yard. The sound of Mary, the youngest maid, humming to herself in the stairwell in lilting accompaniment to Scott's playing. The house settling in the crisp wind. A harsh cry.

Stiles sits upright in bed, alarmed. It was almost human, that sound, and almost not, a kind of wail with a growl on the end of it. He rises and presses his ear against the wall, but hears nothing. He slips out of his room, trying to stay silent, and takes a few creeping steps down the hall. The door at the end leads to the west wing, empty on this floor save for old furniture and stacks of files, according to the maids. He thinks he hears a soft thud from behind the door. The door is locked.

"Must be some animal gotten in through an open flue," he murmurs to himself. "No one goes there; there's bound to be some damaged window or something."

He makes a note to mention it to Melissa, and returns to his room for a nap before dinner. He has a mathematics lesson to prepare for the evening, so it's better to sleep now in his bed than spread out across Scott's exercise books later.

The house settles in the wind. A window opens, somewhere. Stiles drifts off.


End file.
